Stannis, his face closed and stern was checking on the harness of his horse. The animal turned its face at him, and stamped, impatient to leave. The King clucked his tongue to calm it down but, suddenly, all the other horses neighed, stamped. Some reared up and riders almost fell from them. Stannis looked at his soldiers: they were fit, ready to fight, and their excitement was spreading through their horses. His eyes stopped on Margaery, standing in front of the royal tent, holding Shireen's hand. He wondered how many times he will have to leave to a battle like that, to see her holding back her tears, to know she will be scared for his life, for their future. Stannis had never really loved battles: but he was a man, and the son of a Lord. He has learnt how to fight as soon as he could hold a wooden sword. Robert, however, was a real lover of battles. He loved to joust as well. What Stannis loved the most was the preparation of the battles. Spending hours on a map, thinking about all the possibilities, knowing how to prevent an enemy to retreat or to kill too many of his men, that was what Stannis loved the most. He was trying to teach Renly about his skills. His younger brother was a good student, if he could say. Stannis helped him to prepare the attack against the Twins: Renly was supposed to leave this day. While Stannis would attack Winterfell, Renly could safely leave to the Twins.
"Your Grace?"
Ser Davos's voice led him back to reality. The knight was looking at him, and nodded at Margaery and Shireen.
"It's time", he whispered.
Stannis nodded slightly and walked to his wife and child: Margaery tried to smile, but tears were filling her eyes. She would never get used to that. She wondered how Catelyn Stark had managed to make it when her husband was at war, thousands of miles away from her. Catelyn was probably the bravest woman she had ever known. Margaery wished she had more time to know about her, and she really wanted to know Sansa and Arya, to see if the daughters looked like their mothers, whether it was physically or mentally. She locked her eyes into Stannis's. So many things had occurred during their first marriage year. The bond between them took time to happen, but, now, she was sure of her feelings towards him: he was her husband and her king. She loved the two people in him, the man, and the protector of the realm. Margaery remembered how she had reacted when she had seen him for the first time; she cursed herself for that day, for having been so trivial and stupid. Spending a year with him, as his wife, as Shireen's stepmother, had grown her up. And now, she was watching him leaving for a battle that would be long, bloody, and deadly. Maybe even for him, despite all the protection he had. She knew it could be the last time she was seeing him, and she would never forget his face. His jaws clenched, fully determined, his whole face stern because he knew he was sending these men, these soldiers, to death. But, as he was looking at her, she saw something that belonged only to her. Stannis put his hands on Shireen's shoulders; she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. He closed his eyes and ran a hand in her hair. The little princess pulled away and watched her father embracing his wife. She looked away as he kissed her mouth, and noticed the soldiers were staring at them, most with a half-smile. Alongside Davos and Margaery, Stannis had softened up slightly. The soldiers just loved him more with this fact. He made their kiss last, and, when he turned around to his army, all the soldiers suddenly looked very focused on Winterfell's castle that materialized among the snow and the fog. Shireen couldn't help chuckling and she held Margaery's hand as they watched Stannis walking to his horse, adjusting his gloves. He gave them a last look before getting on his horse. Without a word, he spurred it and the procession followed him. Shireen did not take her eyes off her father until he had disappeared in the fog. Her heart was filled with a million different feelings but she was sure of one thing: her father would come back. She could not explain it, she just knew it. He was her pride, this protector of the realm. People always said the relationship between a father and his daughter was special. And, for them, it was true. She was praying, every night, that he and Margaery would have a son. She was only praying for boys. Shireen was not a nasty child, she was far from it, but she wouldn't want to share her father with another girl. She wanted to be all her life long his princess. When the last soldier had disappeared, she led Margaery inside the tent: they now had their own ritual during battles. Shireen would read, Margaery would sew, and when she would be too tired, Shireen would read stories to her, or she would read stories to the princess. Margaery felt like her mother now. She had learnt how to reprimand her, not that it happened often, the child was really sweet and obedient. The Queen and the princess still had moments where they would have fun, but she did not feel like a big sister anymore. Shireen had immediately accepted her as her new mother, a mother she truly loved. When her father had told her he had to get married again, she was scared. She knew most of the Lords's daughters would mock her for her face, or even her gentleness. But Margaery had been kind to her from the very beginning, and she was sure Stannis had appreciated that. Shireen had suffered enough. Margaery and the princess stayed in the tent and Shireen, feeling tired after a few hours, laid down on the bed, making Margaery promise her she would wake her up as soon as her father would come back.
Stannis made his army stop not far from Winterfell. The Northerners were impatient to attack the Boltons, but he knew Roose Bolton and his bastard were vicious. He expected something from them. Two nights before, already, they had tried to burn the camp and kill the horses. They had sent twenty men to do this. The following day, Stannis had sent their beheaded bodies back to Winterfell. He was not scared of them, but he would not make the mistake of underestimating them. They were preparing something. He could feel it. But he did not expect what was going to occur: Winterfell's door opened and thousands of riders stormed out. Stannis frowned: it did not look like Roose Bolton, this front attack. It was clearly stupid: Stannis had much more men, including archers. Davos got by his side, everybody was watching at the cavalry galloping to them.
"Bolton sent all his soldiers", Davos noticed.
"I see", Stannis replied.
He could not believe this was all: a cavalry charge and that was it. He heard the horses stamping behind him, and, as soon as the Bolton's men were close enough, he ordered the archers to fire their arrows. They hit many of men and the horses start neighing with fear, some deadly wounded by the arrows. Stannis repeated the order, again and again, before drawing his sword and spurring violently his horse. He heard his whole army following him and he charged his enemies. As he got closer and closer from them, the archers stopped fire; conscious they could hit their own army. The sound of the horse's neighs, their hooves pounding the snow, creating big cold white clouds, was deafening. Stannis sped up again, his sword pointed to the enemy. He could feel Davos by his side, and Matthos, his eldest son, by him as well. He could see the men's faces now, but he didn't recognize Roose or his bastard. Before he knew it, the horses crashed against each others in terrifying neighs. Stannis beheaded the first man he met, before being unhorsed by a man with a spear. He fell on his back, on the hard ground and, for a second, he was breathless. He groaned with pain and escaped narrowly the fall from a horse on his legs. The animal was skewered with a long spear and it was trying desperately to stand up. Stannis was attacked from everywhere, and he was blocking and attacking the soldiers back. He was still looking for one of the Boltons, or both, but he could not see them. With luck, they had been killed by an arrow. He saw Davos, by his son's side, defending himself pretty well. He would never be a great soldier, but he was brave and he had learnt fast. Stannis got closer from him, little by little: his arm was firm as he cut, skewered, beheaded men. Some prayed, some begged, but he did not listen. He killed, again, and again, and again, despite the yells, the cries, the smell of death, the pieces of bodies falling next to him, the blood spurting in his eyes and on his face. Adrenalin was rushing in his veins: he did not feel pain, or tiredness. He just felt the pleasure of killing his enemies off. Suddenly, he was thrown back. He did not understand what had happened, as he was not fighting against someone but he heard the yells and the soft sound of arrows piercing flesh. He yelled: "PULL BACK! PULL BACK!" before looking around him. With the excitation of the battle, his men had kept moving forward and they were now too close from the castle. Bolton had kept men inside and those men had fired arrows, touching most of Stannis's men. They obeyed his order, and the Bolton's men rushed on them. Stannis thought Roose would make his archers stop but no, they kept firing arrows and were soon hitting more of their men than of Stannis's. Stannis looked for his horse as the enemies were dying. He could not find it, so he grabbed the reins of another one, got on it, turned to his men and yelled "WINTERFELL IS OURS! FOLLOW ME!" The Northerners yelled back in approval, and Stannis galloped as fast as he could to the castle. Bolton's archers tried to stop them, but, even though hundreds died, they were too many for them. Stannis was seeing the castle getting closer and closer, as the strong legs of his horse was taking him to his goal. He kept spurring it, grabbed a spear as he saw a man trying to close the big door before their arrival. Bolton's men were running back in the castle. Stannis took the reins in one hand, aimed at the lonely soldier and threw the spear. He didn't hear it hitting the man, the horses were too noisy, but he saw him collapsing on the ground. He shouted with rage and excitation and, evading the arrows that fell on him and his army, he galloped in the castle. When he crossed the door, a terrific clamor raised from his ranks, and, on his horse, he slew every soldier he crossed at the pace of his name shouted by his army.
He was standing among the dead bodies the men were piling up to burn them later. Out of breath, he suddenly felt tired, really tired. The battle was over. The bastard had tried to fight but Stannis killed him easily. Few prisoners were made: they told Stannis Ramsay had killed his father, Roose, and that it was him who had organized the attack. Stannis was disappointed: he would have loved to kill Roose Bolton himself. Every person supporting the Boltons had been killed, and people crying in relief had come to thank Stannis's army for saving them. Two soldiers had been sent to tell the camp about the victory and to bring the Queen and the princess here. With a loud sigh, Stannis drove his sword in the snow. A snow tainted with red and black: blood and dirt.
"Your Grace?"
He turned, tired, to Davos. The old smuggler's eyes were filled with tears. Stannis looked at his son's body, piled up with the other Baratheon's soldiers.
"What?" he couldn't help snapping at him.
"You… You have an arrow… in your arm"
Stannis turned to what the smuggler was pointing at: he saw the arrow in his arm, and the blood running from it. He had not even realized, he had not felt the pain.
"Take it off", he ordered Davos, offering his arm.
Davos complied, his good hand grabbed the birth of the point and he took it off brutally. Stannis stifled a moan of pain and nodded at his future Hand. He laid a hand on his shoulder and said:
"Sorry for your son. He was a good lad. Loyal."
Davos looked at his king:
"I know, your Grace. Thank you."
And, for the first time since he had known Stannis Baratheon, he touched him: he laid his hand upon his own hand, still grabbing his shoulder, and squeezed it firmly.